Still no sound. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. Muffling up his face, Jack turned away; but he had not proceeded many steps when he heard a man reading aloud an account of his escapes from a newspaper. "Do you wish to earn a rich reward, my good friend?" said Thames to the watchman, as soon as they were left alone. Later. Jack was not half your age when he died. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs.
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